


Trust

by misto713



Category: Bluebeard - All Media Types, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misto713/pseuds/misto713
Summary: Trust. The most important thing every relationship is built upon. At least that's what he heard. Despite his previous relationships, all the wives he had, the man called Bluebeard felt he was far from an authority on the subject. (Rating may change in later chapters) ((Also, cheerier than you might expect... after the intro))





	1. Prologue + Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

Trust. The one thing every relationship is built on.

Or, at least that's what he heard. Despite all his relationships, the _wives_ he had, the man called Bluebeard felt he was far from an authority on the subject.

'Maybe that was my problem', he thought. 'I should have married someone I trusted. Someone who would have trusted me back.'

But it didn't matter anymore. After this last fiasco… He doubted he would want to get married again. Not even chasing away the loneliness was worth it, not if he was left like _this_ , worse than when he began. He looked down at the sword in his hands and another wave of revulsion passed through his still shaking frame. Inlaid with jewels, it seemed more an ornament than a true sword.

Hard to imagine that this weapon took the life a human being just minutes before.

"Brooding over your misfortunes, my friend?" came the mysterious voice of his old friend. His only friend in this wretched world. "You know it's not good for the soul."

"Neither is murdering your wife, the last I heard," he murmured as he returned the still bloody sword into its scabbard, uncaring whether it will rot. But he had a feeling the next time he pulled it out, it will be just as gleaming as it always was. _Magic_ kept it pristine, rather than care.

"Murder? I doubt that. She betrayed you like the others, did she not?" Hector raised an eyebrow, but Bluebeard refused to turn and meet his eyes.

"Did she? I wonder." His eyes took in the rich mahogany of his desk, the pristine state of his library, and the raging storm just outside his window. "Did she betray me, when it was me who set up the test in the first place?"

"Of course she did," Hector didn't hesitate to respond. "That is why we've built this test, after all. To weed out the unworthy, so that you can enjoy life with a woman you know you can trust. How hard can it be, to obey a simple command 'Don't open a door'?"

Bluebeard didn't reply and continued staring at the raging storm. He was too tired to rehash the old argument - whether _he_ was worthy of having a wife, if he set up deadly tests, and killed the woman he tied his life to for the simple transgression of opening a door he gave her a key to.

There was a moment of silence, then he heard Hector sigh, "I'm sure that a trustworthy woman will appear in your life soon, my friend. I'm certain of it."

That caught his attention. He finally turned to face the sorcerer. "Really? You've never said that to me before."

"Well, I've never felt it before, but I do now. Give it one last chance." Hector smiled at him, but it brought Bluebeard no comfort.

His eyes narrowed. "If you've never felt it before, why didn't you warn me? Maybe I wouldn't have…"

Hector only sighed, "You know that's not how this works. We of Power cannot tell when or if a Vision will come to us. We can only be grateful when it does."

Bluebeard closed his eyes in pain and turned back towards the window. The storm slowly broke, and he watched as the clouds parted to let in the first rays of the dying sun. 'Fitting', he thought, 'that Lucretia would die, just as the sun set. She did always think that the sun rose and fell with her.' Yet the moment the thought passed through his mind, he winced and chastised himself. Even if she was… confident, he had no right to think badly of her. Not now. Not ever.

Not after he killed her.

He wondered once again why he ever thought the test would be a good idea.

But if Hector said that he will meet the right woman, then he will… maybe he will give this marriage business one last chance. After all, who could he trust if not his friend?

-trust-me-trust-me-trust-me-

"My prince will come! I'm sure of it!" Josephine's exclaimed, and Camilla was once again struck with the realization of just how _young_ her friend was.

But she was not about to complain. She should be glad to have Josephine around. You can't be picky about your friends when you spend all your life living in the forest, after all.

"He will come for me in a beautiful white carriage, and take me with him to live in his castle!" Josephine continued, and her voice was filled with exuberance at the very thought of her dream prince.

Camilla stretched her arms, grabbed the ladle again and started stirring the herb mixture again. Princes and castles… But she decided to indulge the girl. "What would your prince be like?"

Her friend's face lit up. Poor thing probably had everyone discount her dreams as nothing more than fantasies. Josephine's desire to talk about her dream-prince spilled into her voice as she started listing the must-have qualities of her prince. "Well! He's just like every rich prince! Tall, and strong, and young, and beautiful! He has long blond hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and an amazing smile. Of course, he's also rich, has stables full of pure white horses and a huge ballroom where we will dance every evening…" she sighed, overcome by her own fantasy.

Camilla sighed, as she gave her only friend a fond yet exasperated look.

Unfortunately, Josephine saw the look and crossed her hands over her chest, "What? Don't tell me you wouldn't like my prince if you met him!" When Camilla only shrugged, Josephine pouted, then her mouth spread in a sly smirk, "Then what would _your_ prince be like, Camilla?"

Camilla lifted an eyebrow, "What makes you think I have one?" She continued stirring the herbal medicine for Josephine's brother, Gustav, despite the ache in her arms. She didn't want to talk about 'her prince'. Didn't even want to think about something she'll never have.

Josephine's eye-roll could almost be heard, "Come on! Every girl has one. What's yours like?"

She sighed. There was no denying Josephine when she got like this. And, well, she supposed it was only fair to share. "He'd be kind to me." When Josephine only continued to stare at her expectantly, Camilla smiled a little, "That's it, Josie. He'd be kind. The rest… I don't care about the rest."

Her friend snorted and crossed arms over her chest. "Sure, you say that now. But what if he came here tomorrow and was completely ugly?"

Camilla couldn't help but laugh. "Then I'd welcome him with open arms, and cook him a dinner." When Josie still looked ready to argue, she continued, "I'm used to dealing with gangrene and injuries that would make most people faint from horror. No man's face could ever terrify me. As long as he's reasonably healthy, I don't care what he looks like. If he's _not_ healthy, I will do my best to _make_ him so." She stirred the medicine again, "Face doesn't matter."

Josephine frowned in thought, then asked in a much quieter voice, "And the rest?"

Camilla stared into the thick foliage around her hut, lost in her own thoughts, "It would be nice if he could take care of himself, or at least was willing to do some chores around the house…"

"But that's not a prince! That's just a man!" Josephine was horrified at her friend's unromantic views.

Camilla bowed her head. She didn't want to say it out loud - that at her age, she'd consider any kind man willing to marry her a fairytale prince. When women got her age, they usually already had a gaggle of children clutching at their aprons… and she was still alone.

She didn't have high hopes of ever getting _any_ man, much less a fairytale prince. Twenty-six and living away from both the nearby villages, it was doubtful that a man would be willing to come live with her so far away from other people. And as a herbalist, she needed to live close to where the wild herbs grew. In the forest.

But then, things had always been like that. She never had any hopes in the first place, and so didn't think about her lonely fate as a drawback. It was… just the way things were.

"Well, maybe 'just a man' would be enough for me. But if you want to hear about my dream man, then…" she paused to actually think about it. Something she last did some, what, ten years ago? "He'd be… strong. Able to protect me if I needed him, but willing to let me make my own decisions and live my own life when I'm safe. He'd talk to me, and listen to what I have to say, just as much as I'd listen to him. He'd be well-travelled and would talk about all the wonders he'd seen. He would have opinions and wouldn't be afraid to say them, yet respect that I can have different ones and won't force me to accept his."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "It would be someone I could trust."

Josephine quieted down, and now only looked at Camilla with sorrowful eyes, feeling she stepped into something personal. "Trust?" she whispered.

"Yes. Someone who'd be there for me, and who I can trust to have my back, if anything happened. Someone who wouldn't leave me if things turned rough, and who wouldn't betray me, even if we argued or disagreed. That's the man I'd love."

"Oh." Josephine hugged her knees where she sat on the tree stump in front of Camilla's house and stared at the ground. Then her lips turned up in a mischievous grin, "But it would still be nice if he were young and beautiful!"

Camilla only laughed and stretched her arms again, "Yes, Josephine. It would be _nice_." Then she shook her head, "But if he were young, he wouldn't have much chance to become _well-travelled_ , now would he?"

Josephine only shook her head at Camilla's utterly unromantic notions. "You're a lost cause, Millie-Camillie," she sing-song-ed her childhood nickname. "I will wait for my prince in his gilded white carriage, and you can wait for…"

She squealed and lifted her feet in shock as Camilla dumped the cauldron full of herbal medicine right in front of her. She could only be glad that the heavy thing didn't fall on her toes.

"You can wait for Gustav's cough syrup to cool down," Camilla smirked at Josephine's pout. "And don't insult my prince. He's a great man."

They exchanged a look, then both of them cracked up.

Camilla stretched her hands above her head one last time and looked up at the bright summer sky. Somehow, it didn't matter anymore if her prince was coming or not. It felt good to dream, but she refused to let her dreams consume her. There was simply too much work for her to do, to spend all her time thinking and worrying about impossible things.

As the only herbalist for both Trebatice and Vrbove, one who lived in the forest between them and had to care for the well-being of both villages, she couldn't afford to waste time daydreaming. There were sick to tend to, medicines to prepare, bandages to sanitize since the people didn't bother or know how… and now to bottle and hopefully sell a cauldron-full of cough syrup at the next market-day.

Now where did she put all those bottles she cleaned last week?

-trust-me-trust-me-trust-me-

Bluebeard let the branch fall into place as he took a step back, deeper into the thick foliage around the herbalist's hut.

He didn't know what to think. He followed the beautiful young Josephine since the moment she first started talking about her beloved prince and the white carriage she dreamed of. The dream she described to her brothers. He saw her meet the strange, thin herbalist and used his hunting skills to… well, _stalk_ them to the wooden hut in the middle of the forest. So far so good.

But when they started talking… He never felt more confused.

Josephine was in many ways the same as his previous wives: young, pure, beautiful and innocent. The only difference was that she was not of noble birth herself. Her youthful naiveté was also to be expected - she _was_ young, after all. But he has found that a wife's expectations of 'young and beautiful' were easily cast aside, once a rich man made his offer. Either the woman in question or her family would accept the offer, no matter what he looked like.

He had already concocted plans in his head to buy a pure-white carriage to impress the girl into marrying him. But then… then the herbalist described her dream. Dream that didn't ask for 'young and beautiful'.

' _Wouldn't it be better to marry a woman who didn't have expectations he couldn't meet?'_

At first, he only had eyes for the young beauty who obviously searched for him. Or, well, someone _like him_ , once she got rid of her useless dreams and faced reality. Yet when her friend started talking, Bluebeard was shocked to realize his expectations of a wife were just as naive and childish as those of the young beauty.

He was impressed by the herbalist's idea of 'a fairy tale prince'. What kind of person it was. This was the first time he saw _himself_ as someone's dream. He swallowed and leaned against a tree.

What the herbalist asked for was within his ability to provide. Kindness, respect, acceptance… and trust. He could do that. In fact, it was something he tried to give all his wives… with limited success. But the fact remained - this was the kind of woman who wouldn't have to accommodate her dreams to match him.

He already matched them.

This was the kind of woman he searched for. This was the woman…

He grasped the branch to move it aside and watch the woman bend over a cauldron of medicine again. Long red hair that fell down her back in almost straight lines. Thin, long, unremarkable face covered in freckles. A small worried frown between her eyebrows, tan lines all over her arms and slowly forming wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She was tall for a woman, even if she was still smaller than him… and surprisingly thin for the strength she displayed as she mixed the quickly thickening syrup. No curves in sight either. All in all, a plain, common woman in all aspects.

Well, all but one, he thought as he watched her smile at something her beautiful young friend said. Her entire face lit up as she laughed in response. The smooth, almost noble cadence of her voice bewitched him… as did the things she said. This was a woman who wouldn't bore him. He could see himself talking to her during long, cold winter nights at his castle. He could imagine her whisper to him in their bed in the middle of the night…

The force of his excitement surprised him. It has been a long time since he last felt any true _want_ for a woman. His wives were certainly beautiful and noble, but… After the third catastrophe, he got married to chase away the gnawing loneliness of his castle, in the hopes that _this time_ , things will be better. Perhaps to produce an heir. Not because he actually desired any of them.

But this Camilla woke something in him he hadn't felt since… since Abigail. Almost ten years ago. He could only hope that _he_ will be worthy of her trust.

With a shock, he realized that he seriously considered asking for the herbalist's hand in marriage for her voice and dreams alone. He let the branch carefully fall back into place and turned to make his way back to his castle.

He had a lot to think about.

-trust-me-trust-me-trust-me-


	2. Chapter 2

-trust-me-trust-me-trust-me-

"Bring me plans for the next shipment, Jonathan," he ordered his manservant as he stared into his cup of tea. Even his favorite blend didn't give him respite from the heavy thoughts going through his head. He hoped at least his work will let him stop thinking about the meeting he spied on today.

"At once, my Lord," Jonathan bowed low and left the room.

Bluebeard sighed and looked out of his window to watch the sunset… and the forest where his potential future wife lived.

He still couldn't believe that he actually considered asking for her hand in marriage. It would be one thing to ask for a beautiful, young woman of no means. That could be explained away as part of his 'eccentricity'. But to marry a woman well past acceptable marriage age, and to give his name to someone of no means, no property, no title, and not even physical beauty to compensate… that was a scandal, no matter how he looked at it. He wondered what his business partners will think of it - whether they will try to have him removed from their consortium for his 'poor decisions' or if they'll outright call him insane. Again.

Either that or they will accuse the poor woman of being a witch as was so popular these days.

He didn't even know her. What if she wasn't really interesting, and it was only the late summer heat and his friend's prediction that made him think of her that way? Yet he couldn't shake the image of her smiling face from his mind, nor the sound of her beautiful voice as she spoke of her prince.

Prince that sounded just like him.

Jonathan returned with the documents, and Bluebeard turned away from the window to sit at his table again. He perused the closest shipment details but found he couldn't concentrate. His eyes skipped to the fireplace, watching the flames. Then his eyes turned to the walls of his study to watch all his books and notes from his travels. What was it Camilla said? 'A well-travelled man'? ' _She'd love to hear my stories_ '.

He shook his head at the way he was still distracted and realized Jonathan was watching him with curiosity. The boy averted his eyes the moment he saw his lord looking at him. Bluebeard's lips twitched at the corners as he considered him.

The boy didn't work for him for too long. It was an accident that Bluebeard even learned of his skills and decided to hire him.

Jonathan was given away to the monastery at a very young age, and so was one of the few people around who knew how to read and write well. Yet his quick temper made him unsuitable for the life of a monk.

Bluebeard saw his potential when he came to the monastery to solve a business matter and watched the boy mouthing off. When he realized that the boy was in trouble for running away, he decided to hire him on and give him a life away from the strictures of a monastery. The boy was the right combination of scholarly and still capable of existing in the outside world that Bluebeard needed.

Saving him from a life of boredom, not to mention the serious hiding he'd get for running away in the first place, helped to secure Jonathan's loyalty as well. The boy was happy to have work outside the religious life, one that still made use of his hard-earned skills.

His musings were interrupted when he looked down and saw the thin white line along the boy's arm.

"Where did you get that?" he pointed at Jonathan's arm, trying to get his mind to stop thinking of the herbalist.

"This?" Jonathan looked down at the old scar. "I… fell on some rocks, milord."

Bluebeard thought with a mental smirk that there must be more to that story, but he didn't press.

The boy was quick to continue, trying to change the subject. "But the herbalist was quick to fix it! She had some kind of potion that worked wonders. Most of the scars disappeared. This one is the last. And I didn't even need stitches! It was great."

Herbalist? Bluebeard could have cried. Here he tried to _stop_ thinking of that woman. But just to be sure, he asked, "Herbalist Camilla? The one with red hair and freckles?"

The boy's eyes widened in surprise. "You know the Forest Witch, my lord?"

It was Bluebeard's turn to be surprised. "'Forest Witch'? I was under the impression that she is a simple herbalist, and is not involved in witchcraft." But it would explain why he was so _entranced_ just from watching her talk to her friend.

Jonathan stepped from foot to foot, "W-well, not _literally_. She's just…" he fidgeted again.

Bluebeard simply lifted an eyebrow and waited.

The boy whispered in a hushed tone, as if afraid to so much as speak the words. "I heard she's a _bastard_ , my lord. I heard that she was born to a disgraced woman, and wasn't even christened! And she lives alone in the forest, gathering things by day and brewing strange mixtures at night when all good folk sleep!"

His beard twitched as he tried to hide his smile, "Yes, herbalists are known for gathering things and brewing strange mixtures. Tell me more about her mother."

The boy got even more uncomfortable. "As I said, a d-disgraced woman. Heard she died giving life to the wi…herbalist. No one's ever mentioned a father, and no one ever came to take her away from the old witch, is all I'm saying."

"Old witch?"

"The woman who owned the hut before the… herbalist. I heard that once the old witch died, the herbalist dragged her body to the village to receive her rites and to be buried at the cemetery. The old one never even confessed before she died… and people say she had strange marks on her body! As if the devil himself touched her!"

Bluebeard only shook his head, "Don't you think that the 'strange marks' might have been the reason she died? An injury, or sickness?"

Jonathan only muttered something under his breath. Obviously not persuaded about the old herbalist's innocence.

Bluebeard however, knew better. Magic users today didn't live in forests, trying to make an honest living by helping people. They moved around in society and became immensely rich and popular thanks to their skills. He should know.

His friend was one after all.

Many wondered where Bluebeard got his riches. Most suspected his wealth came in the form of inheritance from all the dead wives, which was silly of course. It was him who brought the greater wealth into any partnership, and his wives were very good at spending it, as it were. The actual secret was both simpler and more complicated.

He asked his friend to give him a way to predict the weather as proof of his arcane powers.

His friend laughed at his request and gave him several small glass balls to forecast weather for the next couple days as if it were nothing. But Bluebeard didn't simply put them in his library to forget about them, as his friend expected. He gave a globe to each of his ship's captains. It had saved more of Bluebeard's shipments and people than he cared to count. While most people had to plan for the possibility of their ships sinking due to a freak storm, his captains could always change their plans and course to avoid them entirely. It made wonders for the success rate of his shippings and the state of his finances.

He doubted even his friend knew how he used the 'small baubles' to build his fortune. Not when there were greater magics at work here - the secret room, enchanted sword, the red and white roses and the 'Trust Key' were much more impressive after all.

Bluebeard shook his head at the boy's superstitions with a chuckle and returned to staring out of the window. It was getting dark outside.

He wondered if Camilla already finished bottling that syrup…

-trust-me-trust-me-trust-me-


	3. Chapter 3

-trust-me-trust-me-trust-me-

Early morning the next day, Bluebeard was ready to go visit Camilla. Officially.

A full night of tossing and turning in his bed and he still couldn't get that woman out of his head. He needed to see her again - see if she was just as enchanting today as she was yesterday. If she kept to her word and was willing to accept him as she said she will, blue beard and all. If she actually saw her prince in him.

He dressed in his hunting coat and a sturdy pair of boots. He will need them to get all the way through the forest to her hut. He hesitated before taking his sword but decided that risking his life in the forest was not worth it just to make her more comfortable around him. And who knew? As someone who lived there and knew just how dangerous that place could be, she would probably understand it as well.

As he left through the servant's entrance into the garden, he saw a coach approach the main road to his castle. He shook his head with a smirk and turned to walk to the gate at the back, the one that connected to the closest mountain path. He was now twice as glad he decided to start so early in the morning. Glad to avoid the 'well-wishers'.

Castle Stenton, his home, never got any visitors, unless he invited them first. That was just the way things were - he was not exactly popular among his peers, and only spoke to them when he needed them for his business or when he hunted the ballrooms for his next wife. The only time unannounced visitors came by was after one of his wives died. Usually in the form of relatives screaming at him due to 'concern' they didn't feel, or 'well-wishers' who wasted his days by offering pleasantries. Both groups had one thing in common - both wanted his money and tried to use his mourning to get it. Tried to use him, and his bitter regrets to get him to give his word and grant them something from his treasure.

Every. Single. Time.

That coach either contained Lucretia's father, the greedy bastard who salivated at the chance to sign his daughter away for coin, and raised the bride-price three times over from when the negotiations started, or another beautiful lady dressed in black, who 'mourned for his loss' and offered her ample bosom for him to cry on… and would expect him to marry her out of gratitude.

As if he'd fall for that.

Ironically, he was now grateful to his Forest Witch for saving him from the fate of having to suffer yet another horrible day. That stump outside her hut didn't look too comfortable, but it will be more pleasant than his arriving 'guests'.

And so, with a spring in his step, he walked down the forest path.

It really was beautiful, this time of the year. Faint mist still clung to the fresh smelling trees. The sound of stream splashing in the distance almost covered the birds chirping and the buzzing of insects. The ground under his feet was covered in leaves, yet the path was still easily recognizable. Late summer mornings in the forest were truly a sight to behold.

He lost track of time, simply walking ahead, uncaring of any of his usual worries. ' _If this was what the herbalist saw every day, would the castle even really be a better life for her?_ ' The thought entered his mind and he paused, couple minutes walk away from her wooden shack, to wonder if his proposal would actually be accepted.

That was something he hadn't considered until now.

She didn't seem like someone who would be impressed or interested in his riches, nor did she seem like one to appreciate noble life in Society. So what _did_ he have to offer her… aside from himself?

His face slowly stretched into a smile.

Maybe 'himself' was enough.

Acting on a whim, Bluebeard decided to take a drink from the stream and stepped off the path. The water here always tasted fresh. He might even take some with him to take back to his castle. He was almost whistling as he made his way down the stone covered stream. He bowed down to let some of the water flow into his open palms.

That's when he heard it.

Faint whines, coming from the nearby bush. He stood up and walked over to check the source of the noise. He walked deeper into the bushes and to his shock, discovered that they came out of a deer, not much older than a fawn, trapped in a crudely constructed hunter's trap.

What was this? The season wasn't on yet - he hadn't called for it. And this didn't seem to be an accident either. Someone set the trap here, someone who was not one of his hunters. No hunter in his employ would use a trap this basic and badly constructed.

Bluebeard kneeled down next to the deer, who only stared at him with soulful eyes. He wondered how long the poor thing was trapped here. It looked starved half to death. Was it even able to move anymore? On a whim, he decided to free it instead of giving it a quick, clean death. He used the tip of his sword to cut through the bit of rope holding the animal in place. Miraculously, it stood up on shaky legs, threw one look at him over its shoulder, and made its way down to the stream to start drinking.

He watched it with a smile from the bushes. For a wild animal, it sure acted docile around him.

"How in bloody hell did you get past my traps, ya bleedin' beast?"

A poacher. Of course.

Bluebeard flinched at the sound of the filthy man's voice. How did he get here? He didn't even hear him arrive. He wondered if this was the man who his hunters couldn't find, the one who made trouble in his lands.

The man took a step closer to the animal, which looked too tired to run and pulled out a wooden club with rusted nails poking out on top. For all its crudeness, it still looked like it could do a lot of harm.

Bluebeard stood up and pulled out his sword.

Poacher startled at the sound of the weapon drawn and turned with horrified eyes to look at him. A moment's hesitation when he recognized the lord of the lands... Then he snarled and lunged after Bluebeard with all he had.

The fight was a quick one. An untrained peasant with a wooden club stood no chance against any man with proper training and a sword, much less the lord of these lands who trained in combat since childhood. Bluebeard easily side-stepped the attack and thrust his sword up. It impaled the poacher with ease and spilled blood all over Bluebeard's coat and trousers.

Bluebeard pulled his sword out, and let the poacher fall down onto the stream bank. He coughed out blood and stared with horror as the blood sprouting from his wound mixed with the stream.

' _And my hands are once again stained with blood,_ ' Bluebeard thought idly as he stared down at his sword. Some days, he wondered if he'll ever make it a month without killing anyone. For a noble, he killed way too many people. The deer used the human's distraction to turn tail and run, as fast as it could, into the forest.

With a heavy sigh, Bluebeard raised his sword to finish the poacher off.

The moment he raised the sword, he saw the malevolent look in the dying man's eyes. The poacher grabbed his club and swung it with all his remaining strength at Bluebeard. His eyes widened as he raised his hand to intercept the blow. His hand exploded with pain as one of the rusty nails scratched a painful line along the sensitive skin of his palm. Bluebeard shouted with rage and pain and brought the sword down to finish the poacher off. The man's eyes went empty and the club fell down next to h'is body.

Bluebeard hissed in pain as he held his injured hand. He looked down at the bloodied scratch along his palm and knew it will leave a scar. Which was far more than he should have allowed. Here he thought he was a good swordsman, yet a simple poacher, half-dead on the ground, managed to scar him. He shook his head, angrier with himself than the poacher, and went to clean the wound in the stream.

He buried his hand in the cold, clear water, watching as it turned red. He hissed again when one of his nails accidentally scratched at the wound and leaned closer to wash the blood away properly.

He didn't count on the wet stones.

Bluebeard felt the stones shift under his weight, sliding on one another. His eyes widened as he felt himself pitch forward…. and right into the stream. The water enveloped his entire body, soaking him to the bone, permeating every stitch of his clothes.

The stream wasn't deep. In fact, it barely reached his knees. But my was it _cold_.

Bluebeard spluttered and coughed in shock. He was soaked to the bone.

He pulled himself out of the water as fast as he could but could do nothing about his ruined clothes. He stood up on shaking legs and tried to pull at least his jacket off to dry. At that moment, a cold gust of wind blew by him. He shuddered and put his freezing jacket back on.

He thought about his options. He could return home… and face whoever came to 'visit' him to deal with their threats or demands. He could try and get into Trebatice or Vrbove and get one of the villagers to summon Jonathan, but who knew how long that would take. Or, since it was the closest from where he was, he could go to the herbalist's hut as he was.

'Heh, not the first impression I wanted to make,' he smirked but aimed for Camilla's home anyway. Out of all possible places, hers seemed the most trustworthy in his current condition. 'Let's see how the future Lady Stenton handles injured, wet men on her doorstep.'

-trust-me-trust-me-trust-me-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I finally remembered to add some notes (oops). This was my last year's NaNo (and this year I'm continuing this) so good news - I have over 50,000 words written already. Just... unpolished, unedited, raw mess of a story that's been sitting in my head for over 5 years, begging to be written. Now I finally listened and wrote it down.
> 
> For anyone interested, check the original fairy tale on youtube, it should provide some good visuals for the characters. Especially Josephine and her three brothers who I've never spent too much time describing physically. Just search for "Grimm's Fairy Tales Classics Bluebeard" and you'll find it :) (or just check the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVPg-daD8X4)
> 
> Now for some personal history: Why Bluebeard? Well, I've been fascinated with the fairy tale ever since I saw it when I was... 14? 15? I always wondered what would happen if you didn't open the door. Aside from that particular scene, he did seem a kind, gentle, caring husband (compared to others of that time period). Considering he could have kept his wife as a literal prisoner and never even allowed her to see her family again and it would be seen as normal and right, he was actually a really good husband. The only thing he asked was to not open that door.
> 
> He:
> 
> \- gives her what she asks for
> 
> \- lets her have as many visitors as she could want
> 
> \- gives her complete freedom and authority over the house
> 
> \- treats her kindly, tries to be reassuring and never forces her to do anything, not even to sleep with him or live in the same room as him
> 
> So what would happen with a wife who... didn't open that door? Would he even know how to live a married life without slaughtering his wife, eventually? His decision to ask for her hand in the fairy tale seemed so... fast. Ill-considered. As if he didn't even hope that she'll stay married to him for long. And Josephine didn't suit him at all, nor did he suit her - she a young, beautiful and scared girl, he a huge, menacing, ugly and bitter noble. Not a good match.
> 
> I tried to fix things (as I usually do). Now they both have issues, many, many issues, but they should understand each other. Maybe it will work out for them. I sure hope so :)


	4. Chapter 4

Camilla set the last cleaned mushroom down on the sheet next to the others with a tired sigh and rubbed her eyes when she heard the wet slosh of heavy boots coming from the direction of the forest. She turned in surprise towards that sound. Who could possibly come to visit her here, in the middle of nowhere, and sound like they walked through valleys of mud even though it last rained more than three days ago?

When the man came into view, she had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. Whoever that was, he looked like a pouting bear, if there was such a thing. Tall, wide, bearded,… and covered in leaves and mud, his clothes so wet they hung off him like rags. What happened to the poor man?

She stood up with a welcoming smile, "Hello there, friend! Can I help you?"

He looked at her, opened his mouth… and then sighed with a self-deprecating smile, "Yes. Would you happen to have any spare clothes around?"

She nodded and waved him closer, "Certainly. I'll bring them out, together with some clean water, if you'd like."

"Yes, definitely." He muttered under his breath as he paused a few steps in front of her.

Camilla beckoned him to sit on the bench near her mushrooms as she went to fetch the wooden tub and a bucket to fill with clean water. The man started undressing, without care whether she watched or not. She was glad she didn't have to talk him into getting out of the wet clothes as she did with most male patients she had. As if they were afraid she'd hurt them or something. This one was obviously made of sterner stuff.

She set the bucket in place and pumped water from her well as she heard the wet splash the stranger's jacket and shirt made as he threw them on the ground. "Can I ask what happened to you, friend?"

The man grunted and she heard him unbuckle his belt. "I fell into the stream."

She only hummed in response. "Unfortunate, that. And it accounts for the water, I guess. But what about the leaves and the mud?" It was probably not very smart of her to pry into the affairs of a stranger, but this was the first interesting thing that happened here this year, and she didn't want to miss her chance to learn more.

"I was actually aiming for this place, so I thought… I'd take a shortcut."

Her eyebrow lifted in surprise, as she emptied the full bucket into the tub. She saw him stand up and start to unlace his trousers. She turned away with a soft blush and went to fill the bucket with water again. "Shortcut here from the stream? Through the 'Mole Fields'? That place is a veritable trench of holes."

The man grunted again. "Trust me. I noticed." He sighed when he heard the snort she couldn't stifle. "Today is simply not my day."

At that, Camilla laughed openly and filled another bucket with water. "Well, it could have been worse. You could have fallen into the river near Vrbove, and then you'd have to listen to Brother Jude's lecture about bathing too often and how it lets the Devil into your body!"

The man snorted and Camilla heard the last wet splash as his trousers joined the rest of the man's clothes on the ground. What surprised her was the metallic clink she also heard. She turned half-way to see what made that sound and her eyes widened when she saw the muddied, but obviously expensive sword lying on top of the clothes pile.

Now that she looked closely, she noticed that the clothes themselves were obviously well made, and looked expensive even through the layer of dirt covering them. She suddenly regretted mentioning the devil and being so careless.

This man was obviously rich, possibly a noble. Would he have the odd 'witch' executed for disrespecting a holy brother?

She turned her complete attention back to the well and the almost full bucket.

"Please, don't even say that. He wouldn't let me so much as change my clothes before he lectured me on proper behavior."

Camilla sighed in relief. Whoever this man was, he didn't seem inclined to accuse her of witchcraft over a joke. Her shoulders relaxed and she lifted the bucket to pour it into the tub. Then it hit her. "Oh, the clothes! And you will need a towel to dry off, too." She abandoned the bucket to run inside her home to fetch the items.

Looked like the strange man was not the only one to be out of sorts this day.

She was usually far more attentive. It must have been the sight of the man undressing. Contrary to popular belief, she did not drag men into her hut to have her wicked way with them, neither was she as used to watching healthy adult men undress in front of her. The ones she usually saw were either heavily injured, outright mangled and in immediate need of help, or laying on their death-beds.

She pulled some old clothes Josephine's oldest brother Frederick left laying around the last time he went down with a fewer, added her one good towel to the pile and hurried back up. The man stood with his back to her, completely nude.

' _Hairy bear, then_ ,' she bit her lip when she saw his legs, covered with fine dark hair. Her cheeks flamed, and she chastised herself for having impure thoughts about someone who needed her help.

That was when she noticed how he dipped his hand into the tub… and how he immediately pulled it out, cursing. Well, of course, the water was just pulled from the well and… was… freezing…

It took all her self-control not to slap a palm over her eyes in embarrassment. Of course the water was freezing, she just pulled it from the well! The first bucket should have gone into the kettle to be warmed at the fire, not the tub! Or she could have at least used some of the already full buckets of water she had laying around, those were at least warmed by the sun.

What did this bear-man do to her? Why was her first instinct upon seeing him go pump the well instead of using her brain?

She cleared her throat awkwardly, and went to set down the clothes and towel on the bench, pointedly not looking in the man's direction. Then she tried to speak but had to clear her suddenly clogged throat again, "I… I will bring you some soup if you'd like. And some of Frederick's old clothes. While we wait for the water to warm up."

"I would like that, thank you." She heard the grin in his voice without turning around and hurried back inside.

'Just as well,' she thought as she pulled the pot of soup off the fire and replaced it will a kettle that she filled with the bucket of water she had inside. 'Good thing Josephine brought me that hen yesterday. A healthy chicken broth will help warm him up. And I might give him some of that cough syrup as well, just in case'. She idly thought that she should really ask the man's name. It felt strange to have seen his naked backside without so much as knowing who it was.

Camilla brought a bowl of soup and a wooden spoon outside for the stranger who now sat on the bench again, thankfully covered in her towel.

He took it from her gratefully, but as he reached for the spoon, she noticed his hand, "You're injured!" She grabbed his hand to pull his palm towards her eyes. "You should have told me earlier! We need to clean this up immediately!"

"I've already washed it," he tried to dismiss her worries but stopped when she glared up at him.

"You fell down and covered your wound with dirt again later, did you not?"

He wisely stayed quiet this time.

Camilla shook her head and checked the wound closely. It wasn't too deep. Little more than a scratch, yet in the most painful place it could be. Palms were always so sensitive. Good thing it was shallow so she wouldn't need to stitch it up. The only thing she needed to do was clean it up properly and bandage it before the wound got infected. She went back inside to get the supplies.

Fortunately, she had everything ready. Both the paste and the bandages. This was something she tried to have always at hand, in case someone called for her. Usually one of Josephine's brothers. If they weren't down with some sickness, they got themselves injured. Why those three ever became lumberjacks when they were so accident prone was beyond her.

She sat down next to the stranger and waited until he set the almost empty bowl of soup aside, then gently took his injured hand into her own, the other one holding a bowl of luke-warm water. The man watched her curiously as she carefully rinsed the wound. She took care to be very gentle around the cut but even then heard him hiss and saw how his fingers twitched at her touch.

'Distraction is in order', she thought as she picked up a second, clean piece of linen to clean the rest of the dirt away. "What is your name?" She asked in a calm, polite tone that seemed to put most of the injured or sick people she treated at ease.

The stranger startled but Camilla had no idea why. Did he expect her to know him already? How could she? He looked at her intently for so long, that she lifted her head to look him in the eyes. 'Brown,' she thought when she looked right into them. 'Warm and curious.'

He tilted his head, still staring into her eyes. "Most people call me Bluebeard."

One of her eyebrows lifted. That… sounded more like an insult than a name. Almost of their own accord, her eyes dropped down to his beard. Now that she looked for it, there was a hint of blue under all that dirt. Deep, dark blue - a color she might have considered black if he didn't call her attention to it. ' _Fascinating_ '.

It would be rude to stare too long, though. She looked him back in the eyes again, and asked, "And your _name_?"

His fingers twitched in her hold. The blue-tinged beard shook a little around the corners of his mouth as he stared at her. Then he spoke a single word. "Martin."

She offered him a smile, "Martin, then."

Strange, he didn't seem _calmed_ by her use of his name. If anything, he got even more… tense. Yet his eyes weren't those of a man terrified. Half-lidded, but intent. She had no clue what that look meant, but for some strange reason, she felt color rise to her cheeks once again.

What did this man do to her? He was not the most handsome one she has ever seen, that was for sure. His features were… unfortunate. Too sharp, too _brutish_ to be considered attractive, when every woman she knew preferred angelic blondes. But then, Camilla was not 'every woman', and most women never bothered to share their opinions with her anyway, so why should she bother considering theirs? This man's features might not be popular with most people, but she found them… appealing.

Camilla cleared her throat and turned her attention back to his hand. She only hoped he didn't notice the slight tremble of her fingers.

Once his hand was sufficiently clean, she gathered a bit of the thick paste she had prepared just for this occasion and gently spread it on the wound.

"What is it?" Martin asked her in a quiet voice, similar to her own just moments before.

"A simple herbal mixture I use for small injuries. Helps heal them faster, you see." She soothed, hoping he won't suggest she was about to poison him.

His eyes narrowed. "The same one you used on Jonathan?"

"You know the boy?" she asked, surprised. "Yes, it is the same mixture."

Martin smiled and leaned back. "I can be certain that it will work well then. Jonathan was very complimentary of its results."

Camilla had to force her eyes away from the hair-covered chest Martin revealed when he leaned back. Blue. His hair had a blue tinge not just on his beard, but elsewhere too. ' _Maybe they should call him_ Bluebear _,_ ' she thought idly, and almost missed his question, "How well do you know Jonathan? He wasn't very forthcoming on the details aside from your healing."

She picked up the bandage to wrap it around the wound, and smirked, "I bet he wouldn't mention how he knows me. Or how he got his injury. It is the most embarrassing tale." Her eyes turned mischievous.

Martin leaned closer to her, "Do tell."

"You see, he is sweet on my friend, Josephine. She lives in the forest as well, with her three big, scary brothers. Brothers who caught him taking a peek at their adorable, innocent little sister as she was bathing in the lake. Poor Jonathan was so scared of what they might do to him that he slipped on the mossy stones and cut his hand as he fell when he fled them. He came to me to treat his wound, and to tell someone of his unrequited love." Camilla had to stifle a couple snickers. "My, wasn't he surprised when Josephine's brothers came to visit me later that day, right as he was leaving. I don't think he ever forgave me for not warning him… or telling him I knew Josephine."

Martin chuckled and shook his head. "Did you tell your friend about it?"

Camilla looked at him, affronted, "Of course not! I might not have stopped him from spilling his secrets to me when he was so very willing to share them to keep his mind off the pain, but I wouldn't just betray his trust like that. Josephine has no idea any of this even happened. Also," she added as she finished fixing the bandage around his palm, "If the boy wants to get Josephine to notice him, he will have to gather his courage and actually talk to her. No promises that it will work on her, but I doubt she'd be angry that someone likes her."

Martin's eyes turned impossibly warm and he leaned even closer to her. "I will be sure to tell him that. Have no worry, Camilla."

Her eyes closed for a second in unexpected pleasure at hearing her name come from this strange man. Then she stood abruptly. "I will… go check the water. It is probably boiling by now." She beat a hasty retreat back into the safety of her home.

She needed to get a grip. This… didn't usually happen to her. If only she knew what it was about this man that made her so, so… distracted. Camilla was always able to keep her cool, no matter what terrible disease or disfigurement she faced. Now she didn't even notice when exactly she introduced herself.

But maybe that was the problem. The men around her were never healthy, strong, and looking right at her. Even those who only had minor injuries always either paid attention to said injuries or watched her suspiciously even as she treated them. They never looked at _her_ , or talked to her, really. And certainly not while naked and covered only in her own towel.

She blamed the discussion with Josephine from the last day for her predicament. It made her think of _men_ too much. And now she entertained stupid, wistful fantasies of what it would be like if Martin leaned in even closer and took her mouth in a passionate kiss. She needed to forget about that chat, and fast. Before she made a fool out of herself.

Camilla picked up her mittens and went to check the water. It was more than warm enough. She grabbed the heavy kettle and lifted it off the fire, once again grateful that she was friendly with a family of three lumberjacks and so she never had to cut or buy her own firewood.

Once the hot water was added into the tub, the bath was ready. Camilla wiped the sweat off her forehead and beckoned Martin to step inside. He smirked at her, stood up from the bench and walked over to the tub. When he dropped the towel, Camilla gasped at the sight. Martin turned to look at her, but she quickly picked up the empty kettle to bring it back inside, grateful that she had an excuse to run.

She… somehow didn't expect that. But she really should have. ' _How else did you think he'd get inside? With the towel still on him?_ ' she chastised herself and tried to keep herself busy inside the house to give Martin at least some privacy.

She already intruded enough as it was.

Camilla looked around her small house for something to do so she would have an excuse not to walk outside. She saw the mushrooms she laid out on the table in preparation for the mushroom stew she planned to make for dinner. ' _That will do,_ ' she thought as she picked up a knife and went to gather the rest of the ingredients. She will cook the poor man a dinner, so he won't leave her house hungry, at least.

She wondered what he did for a living. The clothes suggested that he was either a minor noble or a rich merchant, yet he was… friendly, even to a forest witch. Most of those folk would never be caught dead talking to her, not even when they needed her. Camilla could think of very few other professions that would fit Martin. A soldier, perhaps? He did have a sword after all. But those clothes were clothes, not armor. Well, perhaps she will simply ask the man when he gets done with the bath. He did seem willing to answer her questions, after all.

She slowly started adding the ingredients into the pot, trying her hardest to concentrate on what she was doing, rather than think about the very naked, attractive man sitting in the tub outside her home. Made all the harder by the occasional splash of water she heard from the still opened door…

A shrill scream pierced the air.

Camilla dropped the knife in shock. What happened? That was a woman's voice. She grabbed the dropped knife again just in case and ran out to see what happened. The sight that greeted her had her chuckle in relief and lower the knife.

Josephine stood on the path leading to her house, basket laying at her feet and both her hands covering her eyes. Yet one hand would lower from time to time to take a peek at the Very Naked Man sitting in front of her friend's house. Then she would whimper and cover her eyes once again, face twisted in horror.

Camilla put the knife in her belt and went to greet her friend. "Hello, Josie," she smiled at the girl reassuringly. She noticed the contents of the basket, "I see you brought me back the syrup bottle. Is Gustav feeling any better today?"

Josephine didn't appear to be listening. "Camilla, there is a _man_ sitting in your tub!"

Camilla had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Yes, Josephine, there is a man. His name is Martin and he came to be to get healed…"

"He doesn't look injured," her friend muttered under her breath, still pointedly not looking in said man's way. Martin, for his part, thankfully stayed put, probably so as not to scare the poor girl even more. Camilla could only be grateful for that.

She lifted an eyebrow, "Checked him over so thoroughly, have you?"

"No!" Josephine shook her head frantically. "But… but Camilla, his beard! It's… it's _blue_!"

Camilla chanced a quick glance in Martin's direction and found him watching them with a look she couldn't interpret. And his beard… yes. Definitely blue. Very, very dark, but blue. She turned back to Josephine, "So?"

"He's _scary!_ " Josephine stared at her as if she didn't know when Camilla turned blind.

"And he can hear you, you know," she chastised her young friend gently. There was no need to be so rude to Camilla's guests, no matter how strange they might seem. Camilla herself was not exactly normal, after all. "Also. The beard might be unusual, I give you that, but it is far from scary."

Josephine chanced a quick glance in Martin's direction, then hid her face in her hands again and whimpered.

Camilla suppressed a sigh. It was sometimes easy to forget how very young her friend was. She took Josephine by the elbow, picked up her basket and gently led her inside the house. As she passed Martin, she threw an apologetic look in his direction. He only nodded in response.

Once inside, Camilla lowered her voice, "The man had a hard day. Please don't make him feel unwelcome when he simply came here to be healed."

Josephine lowered her head, "Yes, Camilla. But he's just so…"

"Scary? I admit, the beard is different, but it's far from unpleasant to look at."

The girl only scoffed, "Of course you'd say that. You're weird enough that he could be your prince." When Camilla didn't reply, only blushed, Josephine's eyes widened, "You can't be serious, Camilla! _Him_?!"

"Hush, Josie!" Camilla threw a worried look towards the door. She only hoped Martin didn't hear them. What would he think of them, of her, if he knew…? "Come help me with the stew, and tell me how Gustav is doing."

Her friend hesitated, but reluctantly picked up a knife to help. After a while, Josephine seemed to forget all about the man outside and happily recounted her day to Camilla who kept on working on the stew and nodded at the right time. Gustav seemed to be doing better but asked for another bottle of the syrup, which Camilla gladly sent with Josie. Donald stayed at home with Gustav, while Frederick traded some of the cut wood for fresh butter, which he sent by Josephine as a gift for Camilla.

Their chat was interrupted, however, when the women heard a bigger than usual splash and the sounds of Martin drying off outside. Looked like bath time was over. Josephine turned away from the door and whimpered again.

Camilla turned to her friend, "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to, you know." The last thing she wanted was to make her friend uncomfortable when there was no need for it. If someone's life was on the line? Sure, but it wasn't worth it for this.

Josephine glared at her and hissed, "I won't leave you here alone with some stranger!"

Camilla smiled at the young girl, "Thank you, sweetie. But I've been here alone with him before you arrived and nothing bad happened…"

The girl wouldn't let her finish, "No, of course nothing happened." She said sarcastically. "He only got naked right in front of you. That's not how one treats a lady!"

Camilla had to fight down a blush. "Maybe, but that's what I urge my patients to do if they need it. I'd rather suffer some embarrassment than let a man catch the bad coughs in wet clothes."

Josephine stayed put for a moment, stubbornly not moving. Then, when Camilla did nothing and just waited patiently, Josephine sighed. "All right. I'll go home. But I'll send Frederick to check up on you, you hear me?"

"Of course. I won't protest having a friend around," she smiled again and hugged the girl goodbye.

Josephine patted her back, picked up her basket and turned to go. Then she froze on spot with another stifled scream when she saw the stranger standing in the doorway.

Camilla opened her mouth, but Josephine hurried past him with her eyes downcast and all but ran from there.

Camilla cast an apologetic look at her guest, "I'm sorry for how she acted. She is very young still, and not used to seeing strangers."

His eyebrow lifted. "She's of marriageable age." He righted Frederick's shirt over his chest, and Camilla bit her lip to stop from smiling when she saw how it didn't completely cover the hair on his chest or hands. And here she thought Frederick was tall… This man seemed to be even taller.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But age is measured by more than the number of years one has lived. Josie… she rarely leaves this forest, and it is rarer still for her to meet new people." She sighed and added in a much lower voice, "She also reads way too many fairy tales. And that would be entirely my fault. I… apologize if she insulted you."

Martin only smiled, "No harm done. I am glad, however, that you do not find me repulsive."

Her eyes widened, "Of course not! You're simply very…" her eyes slid to the unique beard, "…interesting."

He took a couple steps closer to her, "I'm glad you think so." He seemed to want to say something else, but Camilla interrupted him before she lost her head and all her good sense again. His presence was wont to do that.

"Please sit down. The stew will be ready soon."

Martin hesitated, then took a seat at the table. Now that he was seated, he turned quiet.

Camilla decided to ask him some questions to fill out the time while the stew cooked. "How do you know Jonathan? Are you good friends?" Martin seemed a bit old to be Jonathan's friend, but then, who was she to judge for having younger friends, especially with Josephine around?

Martin's beard twitched in what she now recognized as his mischievous smirk, as he replied, "He's my manservant."

Camilla twitched and tensed up. Was Martin a noble after all? She didn't know how to politely ask if she has insulted him somehow with her casual use of his name. "Are you…?" She let the question hang in the air as she barely dared breathe.

Martin didn't respond for a time. The only sound to be heard was the distant chirping of birds and the wind softly rustling the leaves. Then he looked her in the eye and stated with calm confidence, "Perhaps a full introduction is in order. I am Martin Stenton, Lord Sovereign of Findale Country."

For a second, she didn't understand his words. Her mind wasn't capable of comprehending what he said. Then her eyes widened and she felt herself start to tremble. Did she truly just oggle and make fun of the lord and owner of all the land she ever set foot on? Gods protect her! And what about Josephine? Brighida help them, she hoped they won't be executed!

She didn't need to see her own face to realize it turned ashen. "M…my lord. I… I apologize… if-if I have…"

Martin - Lord Stenton - jumped up from the wooden bench. Camilla saw him hesitate when he saw her take a step back in response. He spoke in a soothing voice, the same one she used with injured people as she tried to help them. "Please, Camilla. There is no need for concern." He smiled and took a step closer. This time, she didn't step back. "I have come here to… get help. And you have proven a most pleasant company. Please treat me the same as you have until now."

Camilla couldn't help the incredulous half-snort that escaped her. "You want me to treat you like I do every lumberjack that comes around?" The question slipped out unbidden, and only once it got out did she realize how rude it sounded. She tensed up even more.

Martin took another step towards her, now standing right in front of her. She had to tilt her head up to look up into his eyes. The look he gave her was unreadable. Then he sighed and gently laid his hands on her tense shoulders. "No. I want you to treat me like a person."

"…Ah."

That… made sense. Martin was the sovereign of these lands and had no peers. The closest ones would probably be found only in Levice, among other members of the nobility. Yet those people must be busy with their lives as well and lived too far away to be _friends_ with him. As lonely as her life was in the forest, she imagined his life must be lonelier still.

Now that she knew his full name, she suddenly remembered the rumors everyone told around the villages. Told so loudly that even she heard them on the rare occasion that she stayed around when she was called to heal some poor soul. The rumors told of a vicious and ugly monster who stole young girls to have his wicked ways with them and then eat them alive in his huge castle. Their screams were said to echo far into the forest.

Well, she _lived_ in the forest, and never heard any screams.

The man she met was so far removed from the rumors that she couldn't comprehend how someone could ever believe the rumors about him.

She wondered how many of the villagers ever even _met_ the man.

Camilla made her decision and relaxed in his hold. Then offered him her own trembling smile. "I can do that… Martin."

The strong hands on her shoulders squeezed her gently, and without knowing why, her eyes slid down to Martin's mouth. Her breath hitched as she felt his hands hold her tighter.

"There is another matter I wish to discuss with you, Camilla."

"What is it?" she cocked her head, trying hard to concentrate on his voice, rather than the hands that slowly slid down from her shoulders and now caressed her arms.

"I want to marry you."

"…What?"

For a moment, she was certain she didn't hear him right. Was this some kind of joke? Repayment for laughing at the state he arrived in?

He saw her look and a small smirk twitched around the corners of his mouth. "I am serious. I ask for your hand in marriage, Camilla."

Camilla still couldn't believe it. "But why? You don't even know me."

Martin leaned closer, until their foreheads almost touched and whispered against her lips, "You are someone I can trust." Then he closed the distance and their lips met.

Camilla was not certain what to think. Her head was swimming from all the shocks. Rich lord and owner of these lands kissing the odd witch in her hut in the middle of the forest - it was too unreal to believe. Then she felt his lips move against her and decided that no matter what the truth was, she will enjoy her first kiss as best she could.

She tilted her face up to meet him properly and her fingers traveled upwards and into his beard. It was far softer than she expected, and she buried her fingers inside its curls as she kissed him back. His groan reverberated through his chest and into her. His hands slipped from her arms to envelop her in an all-consuming embrace. The way his lips moved against her, she felt a warmth spread all over her body, starting from her chest and traveling down to settle in her belly.

When Martin pulled back from her lips, it was all she could do not to pull him back by the beard to continue. Her breaths came out in short pants, and she was glad to see that he wasn't doing any better.

"What is your answer, Camilla? Will you marry me?" His eyes pierced her with frightful intensity.

Camilla tried to slow down her wildly beating heart. All she wanted was to say yes, but… "Please, give me a bit more time." When his eyes dimmed and he tried to pull away, she grabbed him around the neck. "Yes, I wish to marry you, but…" she tried her best to put her feelings into words. "I'm old and set in my ways. This… this is a big change. We've barely even met. I just - I need to get to know you a little better." She only hoped this was enough.

His eyes softened. "Engaged to be married, then?"

"Yes. Thank you." She smiled with relief.

He chuckled. "As you wish, Camilla. We will be engaged, and live together in my castle until you can learn to trust me. Once you do, we shall be married."

She nodded to him, and let him withdraw from her.

This has been a shocking day. First his strange arrival, then the bath and Josephine's reaction, then the revelation of his status and the kiss… and finally his offer. She couldn't believe he asked for her hand. She wondered what it would be like, how he will explain things to the people who knew him, like Jonathan, once he put his clothes back on and returned to his castle…

Clothes… Which were still lying in a wet heap outside…

She slapped a hand over her eyes. "The clothes! I forgot about your clothes!"

She hurried outside to salvage what she could amidst the sound of his laughter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So... a new fic. I hope you like it :)
> 
> This will be my 2016 NaNo (continuation, so I already have about 50,000 unedited words written). I just wondered if anyone will want to read it, so, if you do, please let me know?


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